


IQ Meets Experience

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid - Fandom
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, High IQ, M/M, New guy - Freeform, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 21:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11609478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)





	IQ Meets Experience

This is like high school all over again. I’m never going to fit in. Intelligence is one thing, but everyone else is a minimum five years older than me, plus they’re all beautiful, intelligent and nice, and here I am, this bumbling genius, idiot that despite an IQ of 190 can’t get my damn profiling right. 

Fuck me.

I started at the BAU nearly a month ago, brought in on sheer intelligence and the basic ability to stand upright, because physical prowess there was none of whatsoever. “Dammit all.” Once again, I’ve spilled coffee on my way out of the cafe, causing my hand to burn, which in turn caused me to drop the coffee on the ground, so I had to go get a new one. This was the third time this week. 

After grabbing another cup, I walked carefully to the Bureau and into the elevator. JJ and Morgan were on their way up at the same time. “Hey, Y/N,” Morgan said as he slapped me on the shoulder. “How are you this morning?”

Play off the clumsiness and the burn on your hand as a joke. “Well, I’ve burnt my hand for the third time this week, but otherwise I’m okay.” Morgan chuckled as we all left the elevator and I couldn’t help but think that not only was I never going to get the hang of this job no matter how badly I wanted it, but I was also just never going to fit in. My bisexual ass couldn’t possibly be more intimidated by the beauty of everyone on this team. JJ was a goddamn angel sent down from the heavens. Morgan, as Garcia said, was sculpted from the most decadent chocolate. Hotch had his own charm, though it was hidden most of the time. Emily was a raven-haired goddess. Penelope was a fucking ray of sunshine that I could never even hope to be, Rossi was well…Rossi, which I’m sure he would appreciate me saying, and Reid…goddammit. His confidence level is just a hair’s breath above mine, but I have no clue why. I have the hots for everyone, but Reid…Reid is an angel with cheekbones that could cut a roast, deep-set eyes that convey all the emotions of the universe, and stupid fucking hair that makes me want to pull my fingers through it. Oh, and lips that gave me the dirtiest of mental images.

Everyone is cool and intelligent and pretty and I am so out of my league. Why the hell did I accept this job? That’s right, because I wanted it more than anything in the world - still do - I just wish that I could actually fit in.

“Morning, Y/N,” Reid said, his smile nearly killing me inside. I did manage to control myself and give him a good morning back. Go me.

Just as my train of thought was going to pull over to ‘Please-Fuck-Me-Reid Junction,’ Hotch came out of his office. “We have a case.”

Everyone got up and made their way into the conference room. I followed behind, but kept my distance. Though everyone was welcoming and warm, my stupid brain refused to let me believe that I actually fit in. I hadn’t for the entirety of my 21 years. Why would I now? “What do we have?” Emily asked as her hair fell in front of her face. God I’m bi as fuck.

“Garcia?”

As happily as she could under the circumstances, Garcia stood up and started briefing us on the case. “New York City. Three women have been found with their throats cut.” When the pictures came up, it was fairly easy to see they were prostitutes. “Now, by their clothing and the locations they were found, one might assume they were prostitutes. But they aren’t.”

Oh fantastic. Now I’m making assumptions. What is wrong with me?

“All three of them are suburban moms from Long Island. All blonde. All between the ages of 25 and 35, and all were abducted from a date with their significant others just prior to their deaths.”

“The clothing,” I started without realizing it. “Was that what they were wearing on their dates or were they changed post-mortem?”

“We don’t know yet,” Hotch replied. I was going to have to get used to the way he spoke. I kept thinking that when he spoke to me I was wrong, or I had asked a stupid question, but I knew I hadn’t. Adjustments were taking longer than I wanted. “Y/N, why don’t you give us a reason that the clothes would’ve been changed post-mortem.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and attempted to form a hypothesis. “Well, the fact that they are suburban moms is obviously important to him.” I tried to think of a reason, but the only one I could come up with sounded convoluted to my own ears. I said it anyway. “These women could be substitutes for a mother or caregiver in his own life. They fit the bill look-wise, but not professionally, so he changes their outfits.”

“So the unsub’s mother or mother figure was a prostitute and he’s substituting these women for them?” JJ asked. I nodded and JJ reciprocated. “That’s definitely possible. But what started this unsub off?” Again, the question seemed to be geared toward me. I had no idea. That was one thing I really needed to work on. I could dissect a crime scene with the best of them, but coming up with a motive for murder was always more difficult. Who was able to think like a killer? Well, everyone on the team but me apparently.

For a moment, I stared at the screen, trying to come up with a motive. “Motive, I’m not sure, but the trigger could’ve been the mother figure’s death, or possibly a return to prostitution.”

The rest of the team nodded and started to throw around other possibilities. Of course most of them sounded better to me than my own theories. “Wheels up in 30,” Hotch said, bringing me out of my daze. I’d only been here for a month, but I’d already gotten used to Hotch saying ‘wheels up.’

As the rest of the team filed out of the room, I stayed behind. Reid was gathering his things; he must’ve noticed the doubt in my eyes. “You okay, Y/N?”

“Yea,” I sighed. “I just can’t help but think…you know what, never mind.”

“You can talk to me Y/N,” he said. “I’ve been through a lot. Probably a lot of what you’ve been through.”

“I just keep fucking up when we’re profiling. I have an IQ of 190 and I feel like the dumbest person in the room,” I said quickly. That was practically word vomit. I guess I’d been bottling that up since I started. “Plus, everyone is so nice and intelligent and good looking,” Fuck that came out of your brain. Good job, asshole. “I just don’t fit in.”

Reid smirked as he picked up his files and started walking out of the conference room. “If anyone knows about not fitting in, it’s me,” he said. “You do fit in here. I can promise you that. Everyone loves you. And when it comes to profiling, mistakes happen. Human beings are too varied to not make a mistake every now and then.”

“Yea?” I asked. “Are you sure? Because I feel like an idiot. And with an IQ of 190, I feel like that shouldn’t be a word that exists for me.”

We walked down the stairs and towards the jet. Both of us had our go-bags ready to go so we figured why not just go to the jet straightaway. “Intelligence is one thing. You have that,” he started again. While he spoke, I started to feel better, his voice washing over me like a hot shower after a long day. “Profiling is taking that intelligence and applying it to real life crime. Even with crazy intelligence, that takes practice. You’ve only been here a month. Just give yourself some time.”

I heaved a deep sigh as we both walked onto the jet, taking seats across from each other. “I guess you’re right. I’ve just been straddling the line between being comfortable with my intelligence and not fitting in for so long that I’m tired. I want to take a firm step to one side, if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” he laughed. “After a little more time, you’ll wobble over to one side. We’ll pick you up and then you’ll be there. Okay?”

“Okay,” I smiled. It’s a good thing everyone else started to pile onto the jet because I could feel my brain getting ready to say something stupid - probably about how hot I found Reid. As the plane readied for takeoff, the rest of the team sat down beside me and we began talking about whatever the fuck before we had to turn our attention to the profile again. Emily asked my opinion as the plane took off. Maybe I would actually fit in here eventually.


End file.
